


Research and Development

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: About what you'd expect from Strex mostly, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Strex!Carlos, Strexcorp, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6694654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Strexcorp returns, Carlos makes a choice. Knowing what the consequences would be did not make them easier. Forgetting about the consequences only made them worse, maybe impossible. Remembering them, with the help of a familiar face, was probably his only chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So first of all: if this looks familiar (and it won’t, to most of you, but if it does…) I wrote it a while ago, under somewhat unusual circumstances, but I’ve cleaned it up heavily.
> 
> Second of all: this is angst-heavy and self-indulgent in its use of certain tropes, but I also promise, for what it’s worth, a happy ending. An unrealistically happy ending, even. It’s a little thin on background, though. Also don’t poke too hard at the actual circumstances that led to this situation? I’ve got some thoughts on it, but mostly my thoughts were on wringing the worst hurt and the fluffiest comfort out of everything. In short, the logic here? A little flimsy. 
> 
> But… Well, if you’re interested in violent angst and dramaticish rescues and post-trauma cuddles, you might enjoy this. Relevant warnings are listed in the tags, so please take a look at those if you need!
> 
> Also Cecil’s dialogue is still really hard.

The studio door was open. There was only so much even an actual barricade could do, and the whole town heard everything. They heard the forced entry, the desperate reminder of past victories, and the rare auditory glimpse of fear from the Voice of Night Vale.

But from all that, most of what Carlos picked up on was Lauren Mallard's voice, for the first time in a long time. His brain filtered out sounds of violence present in favor of violence future - Cecil’s future, specifically.

Lauren Mallard said, _"Alright! I think our favorite subversive radio host is due for some untwisting. It's important that he starts getting his facts straight."_

Carlos was already in the car, most of the way to the station, by the time this announcement aired. This time, there were no pseudo-existent walls to contain him. This time, he wouldn’t just listen or let them do whatever they wanted.

Everything was still audible throughout the station, even where there was no sound system wired in. The nearest Carlos had ever found to a scientific explanation for this was “Cecil.” Dear Cecil, excitable Cecil, his Cecil.

_“Do your worst! We know you, now, we know your tricks, and we know-”_ There was a thump, and a hollow groan, and silence.

Carlos wished he wasn’t running, so that he could have started running. As it was, he tried to run faster. He wouldn’t let this happen, not now, not like this, not while he and Cecil shared a time and a space. It was scientifically impossible.

Then the doorway was in front of him, and Carlos pushed past Strex employees without thinking. Even Lauren stumbled as he shouldered through. He saw Cecil. Cecil was on the ground, and so, in the next second, Carlos was, too.

The scientist’s hands hovered, nervous. He saw no blood. He saw a few bruises. He swallowed, even though he didn’t intend to say anything yet. And even though he hadn’t intended to say anything, he whispered, “Ceec…”

He gathered Cecil’s still form into his lap, and everyone heard him speak. Lauren Mallard. Her employees. Night Vale. Carlos said, “Stop it! Don’t touch him!”

Lauren didn’t smirk, she only smiled, but the smugness showed through her sunny grin. “Really? You think we’d let you just take company property like that?”

So many things went through Carlos’ head then. Some of them came out through his mouth. “Just leave him alone! He doesn’t belong to anyone but himself! Scientifically speaking, no one… no one…”

He looked down at the man in his arms, and he looked up at all the people surrounding them. The people who dared to claim ownership of something so intangible as a personality.They were closer than they had been. They had awful teeth, and no eyes, and their absent gaze prickled on his skin.

Lauren Mallard spoke, “I don’t think you really understand the concept here. Maybe it’s just not very, ooh, scientific.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But you know, instead of stealing… Well, maybe we can reach an agreement. What do you have to offer?”

He should have told her to take her bargaining and jump in a lake. Only there were no lakes around. He should have told her to jump in a sand pit. He should have picked Cecil up, and ran, but he could almost feel the hands grabbing him, and he needed to get them away from Cecil, or there was no telling what would happen to him. And without Cecil, frankly, there was no telling what would happen to Night Vale.

So regardless of what he should have said, what came out of Carlos’ mouth this time was, “Me.”

“You?” Lauren did not stop smiling, but now, there was hunger in the gleam of her teeth. She leaned down, and brushed a strand of Carlos’ mussed hair away from his forehead. He turned his face away, but she just laughed.   
  
“Alright, boys. Leave the radio host, for now. Let’s see what kind of value we can extract from teeth like that.”

* * *

 

The time after he arrived at Strexcorp was a blur, one he had trouble looking back on. But that was okay. It wasn’t productive to look back. You couldn’t make scientific progress by looking back.

They gave him injections. Medicine. Supplements. He knew all about it now; it was very important medicine that improved his productivity, that healed problems he hadn’t even known about. It made his head feel light and empty, but that meant more volume for other things.

The process was very scientifically advanced, and he could do so much more now. His hands worked quickly, until they started to shake, and he didn’t stop then. He only stopped when he dropped a beaker, or scattered complicated, sharp bits of metal over a countertop, and then he gathered everything up and went to lie down. Usually, they would let him lie down. Sometimes, they didn’t, but he didn’t mind too much. He had always liked to work hard, and this was merely an extension of that. It had been in his nature all along, right?

It didn’t matter that he’d only realized that after so much time wasted in that metal chair. He knew better now, from the help of certain scientific tools, like those scalpels and the high-tech electrical equipment, and the small room with lights and sounds fed directly into his head, where it was impossible to block it out.

Not that he would have wanted to. The company jingle was formulated to be as catchy as possible. The harmonics were very interesting, and he frequently analyzed them as he hummed along.

Anyway, Carlos had always been a friendly man. He was kind and thoughtful, although, to be fair, mostly full of thoughts about science. When he did think about people, however, he had usually thought of them as, on the whole, a nice bunch of folks. He had done several experiments on the subject, and while sample sizes had been a bit limited to morally judge the whole human race, his general assessment was: mostly pleasant, with a little rudeness thrown in.

All StrexCorp had done was to show him that that wasn’t enough. Humans weren’t perfect, but he learned that they could be, and what else could he strive for after that? What else? No, seriously, he would love something else, and sometimes, when he had terrible headaches, he was sure there had been something else.

He mentioned the headaches, once, to a coworker. His smile trembled, but when they had promised to help him, there was no scientific word strong enough to define his relief. They told HR.

This had ended with him in a small room again. With light everywhere and noises that grabbed his attention, over and over, until he stopped trying to shut his eyes and let independent thoughts blur into static. Afterward, he swallowed whatever they gave him without complaint. Complaining would have required thinking about it, but he could barely register the fact that the liquid was cold and bitter. It didn’t matter, because when that was done, Lauren Mallard came to greet him personally, and asked, “That’s better, isn’t it?”

And as soon as she spoke, as soon as she put that idea into his head, it was true. He felt so, so much better. She continued, and he listened. Her words shaped the fog in his head into neat, recognizable patterns.

_“Think of all the good you’re doing! This is a much more practical use of science, right? Spreading that sunshine, ooh, yes!”_

She had looked him up and down, and he had smiled vaguely, nodded, giggled. She snapped her fingers, and whispered into his coworker’s ear. Then they were all smiling; Carlos with that deep, unfocused happiness that slid off every thought, and his companions with anticipation.

That was when they introduced the live subjects.

That was when it broke, really. He refused to touch a scalpel himself, even when they thoughtfully gave him a personal demonstration. That was the first stain on his lab coat, drawn from himself. It did give him an idea, though. He’d actually suggested that maybe, maybe they could use him instead - _maybe they could learn from his body, he’d do it for science, as long as they didn’t make him_ -

Lauren clicked her tongue, and patted his cheek. He was too important for that, she said. They didn’t need his body, or even his brain, just the contents. _Hadn’t he been feeling so much better? Don’t worry. We’ll make it as better as you need it to be, Carlos._

But even when they put him in that small room again, and took him out, he wouldn’t touch a scalpel. He wouldn’t touch a person, and he’d babbled, _“Stop, I’m not going to do that, it’s not healthy, how - how could that make anyone happy, please-”_

Only showing him the importance of his work had helped.

They showed him their clumsy procedures. At first, he continued to protest. They gagged him. Strapped him down. He struggled, even kicked, and they gave him a different injection that made him still and silent, that made him taste bile crawling up the back of his throat. His gaze kept blurring and sliding away from the operating table, but he saw enough. He heard enough, too; the patients were so noisy under the care of those messy hands, that cut so fast and jagged.

_“Okay,”_ he finally said, near tears, really only kept from tears by his sluggish pulse. _“I’m a scientist, not a surgeon, but okay.”_

But it wasn’t okay. He stood in front of a tray of knives, and he made a careful selection, and he stood over the patient. They had brought in someone fresh, just for him. He smiled, because wasn’t that thoughtful, and he considered his task. He leaned over them. He glanced over his shoulder.

Instead of pressing the blade carefully through the skin, and feeling it pop underneath the pressure he applied, and letting out so much blood, he sawed at the restraints. Yes. He could cut them free and let them go, and get back to his real job, to building and discovering and not having to think about how his predecessor in this new role might have used those discoveries.

He tried to let them go. He tried to help, he really did. Over and over, until finally, he figured out what was more humane. Just get it done. Even if it wasn’t very scientific.

_“But it’s good science, isn’t it? Think of all the lives you’re improving… think of how much light you’re letting in.”_

All he had to do, then, was research, figure out how to apply more science to the problem. He made such wonderfully efficient progress, after a few errors. A few nicks in the wrong place. He got blood in his mouth once, when Lauren was watching. He had almost thrown up, but Lauren was watching, watching for his smile to waver, and so he carved on. At the end, he told her, as if in a dream, or maybe a condo, “It’s less efficient this way, but I can fine-tune the process.”

She had told him: _good, do that. We have as many… converts… as you need_. He nodded, dizzy, his skin clammy with another person’s blood. He only grew better. He only grew faster. The rate of successful conversions went up, and people left him with wider smiles and fixed bodies.

For the most part, he was so good at his job that they tolerated a single peculiarity on his part. He cleaned obsessively between each session. After some work on himself, he only felt his need for sleep about once a week, and the samples came almost endlessly. In between, though, he got down on his hands and knees, scrubbing the blood from the floor. He washed his tools, he washed the beakers, everything with even a little blood or fluid or hair on it, he washed until his hands were raw. His lab was the only clean thing in the city.

He smiled at the gleaming space. It was good to run an efficient workplace. It was that much more efficient now, and maybe, in saving time, he saved some people a little pain – maybe even enough to be worth all that untidy fuss from before? Maybe he should be proud, that he was helping people understand the love of a Smiling God that much faster.

_Of course, of course, he should be proud. What else could he be? Nothing. He wasn’t anything else. He was very pleased with his work, endlessly pleased, endlessly. There was nothing else to be._

* * *

Lately, Carlos hadn’t been sleeping much. He took medicine, his own invention this time, and only felt tired… every so often. This was good. It meant he got a lot of work done, and anyway, he didn’t like waking up. He dreamed about before. It had not been a happy time, and he did so like to be happy. So he only thought about what before meant after he slept, right after he woke from a dream where everyone was smiling and everything was red. Sometimes, he was in his lab, or in the office.

But there were other dreams, too. Night Vale stayed, curled up inside of him, and sometimes he went home, but mostly, he helped them take his home apart. Cecil was there. Often, the idea of Cecil was there, just so that Carlos could miss the man.

They hadn’t spoken in months. There just wasn’t time, with his job. There wasn’t time for anything but science, and he scolded himself for not embracing that more fully. He’d often wished for it, anyway. Yawning, late at night. Trapped in traffic. How often had he wanted more time for science? So often. He was happy this way, yes.

Things were great. They’d never been better, he thought, as he performed some in-depth science on a dull-eyed, blankly-smiling woman. He laughed to himself, but cut it off quickly. Something about the sound was funny, and not in a good way. Maybe he’d need to replace his vocal chords again soon. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a large sampling available.

That was another perk: he had all the resources he could ever want. All he had to do was ask, and the equipment was his. They told him this was because he did such good work, and he smiled and said nothing. He really didn’t like the sound of his voice anymore, and since it didn’t make him happy, it was better if he minimized it. Maybe he really did need to consider alternatives.

Sometimes, they came to take something away, not to give it. They told him they needed something else from him, and if he didn’t have it done in time, they would have to discipline him. Again. He had a tight schedule, but that was alright, mostly. He was good at keeping it.

(But he still required discipline fairly often, whatever privileges he’d earned. He needed it, especially right after he woke up - sometimes after he woke up from a dream about Night Vale, he refused to work at all. He said, _no_ , or shouted it, and he _frowned_ , until they used some highly scientific equipment, some of his own design, to remind him of how unproductive that was.

_“He could just be so silly sometimes,”_ he thought, and they told him, as blood dripped from the edges of his smile.)

And yet, they told him a little about Night Vale, too. They told him Cecil knew all about his accomplishments, and that his boyfriend was definitely proud of him. That made him happy, too, in a distant way. It never occurred to him that it might be a lie. He listened to Cecil’s show sometimes – it was his sole illicit pleasure, and it didn’t always work even when he tried. He didn’t hear the words, either; something about it couldn’t cut through the sharp whiteness that always buzzed in his head. But the voice was there. That was enough.

But one day, as he was washing the blood from his hands, watching the pale liquid flow down the drain, someone knocked. He turned off the faucet and dried his hands, carefully reaching even between his fingers. When he was done, he called out, “Come in, come in. I’m just finishing up.”

It was only a pair of security enforcers, clad in the usual black suit, with their lips sewn shut so they couldn’t corrupt any messages with personal opinions. They carried a man between them, and immediately set about strapping him to the operating table, before Carlos could even get a good look at him. But they left soon enough, and Carlos wandered over. For a moment, his hand wandered over the strap, for a moment, his thoughts were unsupervised, and they were _no, not again, don’t do this_ … And then a jingle filled his heart, and he snapped his fist shut, and turned to examine the lucky patient’s face.

It was familiar. It was distant. It couldn’t actually be in front of him.

It was Cecil Gershwin Palmer.


	2. Chapter 2

Carlos stared at the man on the operating table. He stared at his boyfriend, on the operating table. Carlos stared at his boyfriend, who he had not even glimpsed in months, who he had come to think of only as snatches of voice. There he was, stretched out in his physical form on the scientist’s operating table.

There was only one thing to do in a situation like this. He laughed. It rose from a strained giggle and peaked as a desperate wheeze, more air than emotion. He laughed until tears spilled from his eyes. And the noise, as Carlos had suspected, woke his boyfriend.

He’d always been a light sleeper. 

It would have been simple, otherwise. Hook them up to an IV while still unconscious, get it over with, and Cecil might not have even had to process the fact that he had a new voice. There would have been no time.

Oh. Carlos stopped bustling around, steepling his freshly-gloved fingers together. Perhaps he’d been cruel. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be kind, especially now. 

And then, a voice. Still groggy, still heavy with drugs and blows to the head. A voice that said, “What was… Where is-?” A moment. A moment for processing, a moment for adrenaline to kick in, and for Cecil’s gaze to settle on him. “No. No, this can’t… Hey! You-”

Carlos stood at the counter, with his back turned, but his hair - a flash came to him, a soundbite of the past,  _ his perfect hair _ \- visible to Cecil. His lab was clean, but he was the dirtiest thing within that space. There wasn’t much time for laundry, so as much as he cleaned his equipment, his only lab coat was stained with blood. And sometimes, it got in his hair, too - actually, most of that was his, and there for other reasons - but there was only so much you could do about that without a shower.

He ran his fingertips through it, teasing out a matted spot, and hummed the jingle to himself. He had to be scientific about this. He had to remember what he’d learned, what they’d taught him about science.

Still, it happened soon enough. The voice took on a different tone. At once more alert, and so soft it should have been inaudible. But Cecil’s voice always carried. He whispered, “No… Carlos?”

There were so many questions in that name. Some of them, Cecil knew the answers to.  _ Why are you here, what’s wrong, what are you doing?  _

_ Did they hurt you?  _

Cecil knew the answer to that. He tugged against his bonds for the first time, an experimental challenge. They bit into his wrists, and he bit his lip, but he missed Carlos’ examining him as he examined the restraints. 

The scientist’s smile blurred dreamily. He thought about how cute Cecil was with his teeth pressed anxiously into his skin. Carlos would have liked to see him smile, but that was cute, too. It was nice.

Everything was nice, the scientist’s life was nice, but somehow, that was different. It was so  _ nice _ that he felt the beginning of a headache threading through his skull. 

“Cecil. Hi, Cecil,” Carlos replied. He made his way back to the operating table, and stroked his boyfriend’s cheek. Cecil didn’t flinch, but he closed his eyes again, as if he could force a different context to emerge when he opened them. 

The radio host had missed that touch for months. The radio host had lived with more guilt than he knew what to do with. He’d woken up on the floor of his booth, and Carlos was gone, and only Dana would narrate the events back to him. At first, everyone else had refused to even look. Granted, that had changed, and it was part of why he was here. But in the moment, the fact that he had a whole town standing behind him meant less than the blank, scabbed smile on that familiar face.

“Carlos… I’m sorry.” 

“What? Why are you sorry? Don’t be sorry, Cecil!” Carlos beamed, and his head throbbed. It was the worst headache he’d had in a long time. He might have to let someone know about it. Maybe. Maybe, if it interfered with his work. But he needed to help Cecil first. Carlos promised, “It’s great. I mean, I’m great! And you will be, too. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

_ Okay, _ Cecil did not say, but his lips traced the word. 

“No,” Cecil said. “No... this isn’t right. Is it? You have to know that. This is… I know where we are, okay? This is literally the opposite of great!” 

Cecil winced, regretting the sharp tone immediately. It was panic, not malice - at least not malice directed at Carlos, but that didn’t really help. He looked at Carlos for any reaction, and saw none. What he saw was this: 

There was the blood, on the surface. There were deep circles under the scientist’s eyes. There was an absence of shifting and tics; Carlos did not wring his hands or tease the collar of his lab coat. He was so still that when he did move, it looked unnatural, like something jerked his limbs for him. Puppetlike. 

The radio host twisted. He kept trying to stand, or raise his arms. Anything to reach out. But he couldn’t, so he did what he always did, instead. He continued to speak, “You look exhausted, dear. I’m sorry, but I don’t think - no. I know you’re not okay at all. None of this is. Please… you don’t need to… pretend.”

_ No more euphemisms. No more talking around it. That could apply to personal subjects, too. _

Carlos’ smile actually shrank from a frantic grin into something smaller, more desperate. That was the wrong thing to say. That was unacceptable; that was subversive. Those were not happy words. Suddenly, he needed very badly for Cecil to understand. Then Carlos would not need to work with him as much. 

It wasn’t that he was reluctant to do his job -  _ oh, no, never _ , he thought loudly in his own head - but it would be faster and he could get on to more work, and so could Cecil. Carlos thought this loudly and clearly, so there would be a record. He was pretty sure he’d end up visiting HR later, no matter what.

“Oh. Cecil. I wouldn’t expect you to understand this right away. It’s very scientific.” Carlos stepped back. Out of habit, he picked up a scalpel, and began to fidget with it. “But I’m so… so happy you’re here. I can show you...”

There could be an understanding. Cecil would do whatever his job was, and Carlos would keep doing his own, and maybe they wouldn’t be together but they’d at least be in sync again. There did not have to be blood and knives between them. Yes. He tucked the scalpel in a tight grip, the tip angled away.

“I don’t think I want to see. I’m sorry. I don’t think you really want to show me, either…” Cecil said slowly. He felt out the words as he went, but as soon as they made it through, they were clearly true. Carlos flinched, and Cecil shook his head quickly, but he didn’t want to take it back. “I don’t know what happened. You can tell me, or not, if you want that. When we’re somewhere safe… Yes… I’ll listen to whatever you have to say, Carlos, but not here. We need to be somewhere else. Do you understand?”

The radio host’s voice always carried. It swelled around Carlos, and he understood. Then his head throbbed, and he did not understand anymore. He had to make Cecil understand, instead. Right, that was it. Traditionally, words were Cecil’s trade, not his. But he could try, if he didn’t take too long. Cecil was looking at him. Carlos cleared his throat.

“Oh. Yes. But. But, I know it’s a lot. I know it’s... different here. But different’s not always bad, scientifically speaking. Sometimes, like now, it’s good! Really good! I mean, Night Vale was different for me, at first-” 

Carlos’ throat caught on his words. That was from before, a delineated time that he was no longer allowed to touch. That was not a happy time. The scientist pushed his smile wider, but his voice was barely more than a whisper as he concluded, “It’s different. It’s a change. But everything changes, scientifically speaking, and you can’t always fight it. And… and I’ve learned so much here. I’m very happy, really. Even happier than before, Cecil!”

Or was he? Maybe not, but this was the right kind of happiness. This was safe. Whatever they’d had before, it hadn’t kept Cecil safe, away from - Well. It wasn’t keeping anyone safe now. But Carlos remembered bowling and Italian food, he remembered science in a room that didn’t always smell thickly of iron, he remembered eating and sleeping every day. Maybe that had been a different kind of happiness.

And none of that mattered, scientifically speaking. None of that existed anymore, so it might as well have never been real to begin with. Linear time was irrelevant. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. If it mattered, Cecil would get hurt, because Carlos would fail.

“Carlos,” Cecil said softly, and Carlos realized how far he’d drifted. He tore his gaze away from the ceiling, and rested it on Cecil’s face. The radio host looked tired, but somehow, less scared.  He’d found Carlos’ rambling strangely soothing.  That was Carlos, alright. Desperate and scared and soaked with blood belonging to himself and so many others, but it was Carlos. That was all Cecil needed to know. He continued, “Carlos. My dearest listener... I missed knowing that you could hear me. Do you know why?”

Carlos shook his head, and rolled the scalpel between his fingertips. 

Cecil went on, “It helped, knowing that you were listening, knowing that my words reached you and were more than a traffic report or an editorial. I’d started reporting for… personal reasons, and without that… without you, I…”

The radio host’s mouth tightened, and he inhaled sharply. “I was so scared that it didn’t mean enough. It meant something, but so much was missing, too. I thought it was just gone. But I can see that was wrong now. As long as you’re alive, as long as we’re alive, as long as anyone is alive to listen, there is meaning. There is hope. I didn’t know if I’d see you again, but here you are. It matters more than anything else. If… if you come home with me, we can have that again. We can at least try, and that alone would be all I could ever ask.”

_ It matters. _

Carlos thought he was going to scream. It shouldn’t have been so easy. It couldn’t matter. He didn’t matter, only his work, and after the work he had done here, he didn’t deserve to matter anymore. But he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t laugh. He wondered if handing Cecil over to him had been a test. Well, he’d failed, and that was that. 

He wasn’t happy anymore, and he didn’t know if he’d ever been happy anywhere. What was happiness, scientifically speaking? Nothing like this…

But thinking that way would be, scientifically speaking, the end. For real. They’d punish -  _ no, no, justly discipline, right, remember _ \- they’d do whatever they wanted to him, and they’d take Cecil away, and then, and then it really wouldn’t matter to Cecil, either. 

Whatever the radio host said, Carlos had to prove to Cecil that it did  _ not _ matter, and he needed to show him what  _ did.  _ Carlos had to do it now, and he had to be efficient. He would not fail, and he, too, had no intention of letting them be separated. 

But he couldn’t imagine Cecil’s idea working. It wasn’t realistic; it wasn’t scientifically sound. He’d learned so much about science here, and it was where he had to be. They’d made sure of that, and then triple-checked to make sure he understood. 

He just needed to prove it to Cecil. So he didn’t scream. He didn’t laugh, either. He just dug the tip of the scalpel into his own upper arm, through the fabric of his lab coat, which by now felt more like his skin than flesh did. But flesh tore, too, then muscle, and his own blood splashed out. He carefully peeled the layers back to reveal a fragment of metal gleaming inside of him.

Only then did he laugh, in silent, heaving breaths, his shoulders shaking. Cecil jerked against the restraints really fighting for the first time, and shouted, “What - Carlos! Oh, gods, Carlos,  _ Carlos... _ ”

Perhaps invoking the name, whole and unbroken, would heal its owner.

“Oh. I just wanted you to see. I couldn’t go somewhere else. I know you were trying to be thoughtful, and I appreciate it. But they’d find me, see? I know they would, I know it works, because I made it myself.” He giggled. “So I couldn’t leave if I wanted to. I learned that a long time ago, when I… I think I wanted to? I don’t remember. But they’re always watching! I learned that in Night Vale, too, but it means something else here.”

He dropped the scalpel onto the floor, and leaned in close. He tried to keep his arm out of the way, but still some blood landed on Cecil’s cheek. The radio host gasped and flinched. “Oh, Carlos-”

“Shh. Don’t say anything. My honey-voiced honey… be quiet.” It was difficult enough to think as it was, and it was difficult to do one-handed, but Carlos maneuvered one of the straps around Cecil’s wrists free. “There. Isn’t that… better? You’re happier that way, right?" 

"Yes…” Cecil said slowly. He didn’t know that he was happy, but unbound, and with Carlos right in front of him, well, that was something. “I am happier. Relatively.”

He did not say anything more. He merely reached around and undid the other strap, then set to work freeing his legs. When he was done, he did not get up, but he shifted to make room, and took what he now had to think of as Carlos’ good arm - as if any part of that man’s body could be bad. He guided the scientist to sit beside him.

“Good…” Carlos found himself leaning on Cecil. Each cell in his body was a storage unit, containing the memory of how to fit against the radio host, how to line up his shoulder when the other man lifted an arm to embrace him. His eyes closed. “I want you to be happy. I’m sorry… they brought you all this way…”

Cecil brushed the blood from his face, carefully not thinking about who it belonged to. Or rather, he was thinking a lot that person, but not the blood that spilled down the sleeve of the dirty lab coat, or the dullness in those dark eyes. He wrapped his hand around Carlos’ shoulder. 

“I’m glad,” he said delicately. “I’m glad they took me, because you know what, Carlos?”

“What?” 

“The deal is off. There never should have been a deal to begin with, but we couldn’t find… this place. We tried. Oh, Carlos, I tried so hard-” 

He never would have abandoned Carlos, never, but for so long, all his research ended nowhere. Somehow, like staring into the sun, looking for the Smiling God left you blind. Cecil’s voice grew stronger as he went on, wound through with coils of anger. 

“But I’m here now, aren’t I? I think that breaks the contract. A… a scientist for a Voice. Well, they can’t have both. They should never have had you, and I don’t care…” His fingers strayed closer to the wound. The skin nearby felt hot. Cecil took a deep breath. “No. I do care, I care very much what they put in you, what they did to you. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re coming with me, Carlos. Please.”

Carlos stood up. He pushed off the table abruptly, severing his connection to Cecil, cutting off the warmth. As the shock started to fade, his arm throbbed so fiercely that he staggered. But he had things for that. He crossed back to his tools, and picked up the needle and twine. He examined the wound for a moment, tugging back the fabric of shirt and lab coat. 

He glanced back at Cecil. It was just Cecil. He shrugged off his lab coat, and let his shirt dangle from one arm. The needle dug into his flesh, then out again, and he wove back and forth like mending a seam. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he smiled again, as the tips of his gloves turned red. That was what he did. He learned where the seams were, and he opened them up. They told him what to do inside. He closed it again. It was scientific. It was not nice, but it was very scientific, and he liked science. 

He liked science. He liked to do lots and lots of science, and science was red, and happiness was a catchy song-

It was so easy to slip back. He was only a human, only a mortal, after all. But he turned around, and saw the man sitting on the operating table. He would never need to know what was inside of Cecil. Thank the Smiling God. 

Cecil still hadn’t said anything else. Carlos figured he was waiting. He wanted a response. Carlos tapped his chin, unthinkingly leaving a little smudge there.

“What were you saying, Cecil? I’m sorry, I got distracted…” He said, as he tugged his shirt back on.

“You don’t have to stay, Carlos. Let’s leave - let’s  _ escape _ . Please?” Cecil stood up, too. He approached the scientist, who took a step back, and held up a hand.

“Wait. Cecil. You should know some things first. It’s important to have all the information before you make a decision.” The scientist’s smile trembled. It did often. He hadn’t thought about this before. “I don’t sleep. I don’t feel tired, so it’s easier to get work done. So, I don’t sleep. But… I’ve helped a lot of people find the Smiling God? I didn’t want to, but it made me happy. I mean, that was all it could do. I’ve never been happier. It was just a matter of removing alternatives. Remove everything but happiness and yourself, that’s the scientific formula for productivity… Are you sure you want to take me with you? I’ll help you leave, but I don’t think I’d make you very happy. And I want you to be happy, Cecil.” 

“Okay. Well, here’s the thing. I’m not leaving without you. I mean it, Carlos.” Cecil didn’t need to hesitate, this time. He grabbed the scientist’s hands, both of them. Then he dropped one, but his boyfriend didn’t react to having his arm jerked. “I will  _ not _ leave without you. And we are leaving now. I’ll tell you a secret.” 

He leaned in close, brushing Carlos’ hair away from his ear, his fingers trembling at the sticky texture. “This wasn’t a surprise. Things have been getting worse in Night Vale. We needed it to stop, so we needed to hit them on our terms. I’m not alone, and you’re not, either.” 

Carlos stopped breathing. He told himself,  _ No, you don’t want to leave, you want to stay here, you  _ are _ happy here, you’re  _ so _ happy here, you are loved here and you love a Smiling God and there is so much science to do.  _ It came fast from his own head, from a voice that wouldn’t stop, and there was so much light. He didn’t have a choice, but there was Cecil, offering him a choice, and he felt trapped. 

“Not alone? I… I don’t even remember how long I’ve been here. I don’t want to hurt you. I never… wanted to hurt anyone… oh, S-smiling God…” Carlos pressed his free hand to his mouth, trying to cover up the despair showing on his face. “Please. They hurt other people. They hurt other people when I didn’t do what they wanted, if you’re not alone, it will be worse… Please. Please, all of you need to go right now, it’s very important! I’ll buy you time, I’ll do whatever you want, but Cecil, Cecil, please… get out of here.” He smiled as wide as he could. “I’m a scientist. I’ll be fine, that’s why I… that’s why I did what I did. You know. You remember. But you… who knows? So please. Please go?” 

But Cecil stepped closer, removing the space between them. Carlos thought he was going to throw up, his stomach pitched violently, but thinking about it he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last eaten, either. He should have moved away. He needed to move away. But Cecil’s arms were already around him, and finally, something inside of him punctured and flattened. It felt like he was all pus inside, like his organs were oozing against each other. It didn’t make sense. He slumped against the warm body in front of him, and cried. 

Cecil whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Carlos.”

After a while, Cecil spoke, seemingly into the air. The words were a signal, and the listeners set to work.

* * *

Leaving was a blur, too. Carlos remembered it mostly in terms of sensations, rather than moments. Shaking, his arm wound through Cecil’s, leaning against the other man. Cecil seemed to know exactly where he was going, somehow, even though he also wasn’t looking at the space in front of him.

Occasionally, he did that thing again, speaking into the air, and he would change direction. He appeared to be concentrating very hard. Carlos was more than happy to stay silent and let Cecil lead. His trips out of his assigned workspace hadn’t left him with a clear impression of the layout. They had left him without much at all.

But then there was a problem. Whatever Cecil had said, it had started something, and now everyone was busy. There were workers everywhere. Noise, movement, but none of it fitting together properly. It was chaos, and it would have been overwhelming at the best of times. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that, somehow, in the middle of everything, someone managed to single them out. An executive with bright eyes and a smile that curled tightly in on itself.

“Carlos! What are you doing? There’s nothing productive for you to be doing out here, is there, friend? And isn’t that-” The executive’s eyes landed on Cecil, and narrowed. They were still smiling, of course, but it was not friendly. 

There was a moment. Silence, confusion, and Carlos had to fight a panicked urge to meet Cecil’s gaze. The other man’s arm tightened around his. He was fighting the same impulse. But Carlos knew, someone would have a free hand for them, they had to say something, what could he say - 

“This is Cecil. We just finished up… he was a little, mm, grumpy, but he’s feeling much better now, isn’t that right, Cecil?” 

Now, Carlos glanced at Cecil. The radio host was beaming, but his grip on Carlos’ arm only grew stronger. “Oh! Oh, yes, that’s right! I’m very… very happy. And Carlos was going to show me something. Weren’t you?”

Carlos nodded, and laughed. It was too easy to laugh, and the sound didn’t want to stop.  _ Stop it. Stop!  _

He needed words. He made them. “That’s right. We were just going to see Lauren! I thought, I thought since it’s so busy, it would be nice to have more helping hands, and I thought she would want to see what good progress we’d made…”

“Yes, that is exactly what we were doing,” Cecil added quickly.

The executive nodded. “Good initiative. I’ll make sure to tell her how keen you were, Carlos. It’s good to see you’re finally working past all those prickly little… concerns. But Lauren is a little busy herself right now - make sure you’ve got a presentation prepared. You wouldn’t want to waste her time.”

“Oh, of course! We know. We would never do anything like that.” Carlos patted Cecil’s hand. 

The executive left them. They took off down the hallway, and Cecil moved a little faster than before. Carlos couldn’t breathe, any more than he could believe that had worked. Had that worked? Or was it-? He thought about Cecil’s smile. He thought about everything that had happened, or he tried to, but so many  _ happy memories _ , shaded by the smell of blood, almost swallowed him. Cecil looked right, he sounded right. But he hadn’t seen Cecil in so long. 

_ Oh, Smiling God… Oh, no. _

Carlos whispered, “Cecil? Cecil, you’re not… how are you feeling? I mean, I don’t think it would be good to see Lauren right now. Scientifically speaking, I mean - it wouldn’t be productive. You don’t want to, do you? You’re not really - you’re okay, right?”

“What? We’re not going anywhere near…  _ her _ . I’m alright,” Cecil assured him. “But that was… thank you, Carlos. That could have been very, very bad. We need to keep moving.”

Carlos turned his gaze to the floor. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that kind of gratitude, that soft, urgent voice; his heart kept on beating, too fast even after that reassurance. He said, “Okay. Okay.”

They’d gotten turned around by their encounter, but soon enough, Cecil had them on the right track again. They found a gathering of tall, winged beings waiting for them in a supply closet, of all places. And in the center of that group, an old woman. 

“There you are!” She said. “Come on, don’t wait - my Erika is wrapping everything up.”

“Good. How’s Tamika doing?” Cecil asked. 

“Oh, they’re fine. You know, Erika is wrapping everything up, but they’re the ones that got everything started.”

“Alright… Honestly, it’s going better than I thought it would,” Cecil admitted. 

“Well, we hit them where it hurts. They weren’t expecting us  _ here _ . Weren’t paying enough attention to their home. Shameful.”

“But nothing less than they deserve,” Cecil said, and wrapped an arm over Carlos’ shoulders. This was not a conscious gesture, but it was closely tied to his previous statement.

“And I see you found who you came for…” Josie looked Carlos over, and frowned. “You poor thing. Don’t worry. It’s been too long, I know. But we’ll get you home safe. We never forgot about you. It wasn’t just Cecil who missed you.”

“Oh. Okay.” said Carlos. He smiled at her. The edges hurt, and he brushed them with his fingertips. Cecil and Josie shared a worried look. Carlos didn’t see it, in favor of absently plucking the collar of his lab coat. 

“Josie. If you’re sure you’re alright, then can we…?” Cecil asked quietly.

Josie nodded. “We’re finishing it up, like I said. It sounds anticlimactic like that. Maybe it is, and maybe it should be. But you can take him home. Erika will help.”


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos had spent a long time in the shower, right after they got home. Slumped against the wall, breathing in steam and soap, the scientist had almost scrubbed himself raw in every place he could reach. He ground away at his body with a cloth as though the scent of blood was a physical coating on his skin. His hair turned the water dark when he washed it the first time, and he ended up using more than half a bottle of shampoo on it. 

He was starting to feel lightheaded. Or maybe he was just picking up on a feeling that had been there for a long time. He caught himself smiling, and his breath came as soft, panted laughter. He grabbed the knob and twisted it, forcing the water as hot as it could go. It hurt. It hurt, he reminded himself, and he did not want it that hot, and he was allowed that displeasure. 

He readjusted it, and stayed hunched over, shivering and clutching the knob. 

At one point, Cecil stuck his head in. Carlos had been in there for so long that he’d grown worried. “Honey? Are you - how are you doing?”

“I’m… almost done. I think. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long. I’m sorry, I can hurry, I’ll be done soon…” The words wouldn’t stop, as he realized just how long he’d been, how much time he’d wasted, when he could have been doing anything else. Something useful. His chest felt tight, but he pulled the shower curtain aside just enough to give Cecil a wavering smile, meant as a promise. “Just a second, okay?”

He found Cecil right in front of him, and the radio host gave him a kiss on the forehead. He said only, “Take as long as you need, dear Carlos. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

So Carlos took another few minutes, but after that, he was too anxious to stay. But he didn’t want to go, either. He didn’t think he was clean yet. And he kept replaying in his head,  _ dear Carlos. _ That meant so, so very much; the words weren’t his, but they caught in his lungs all the same. Now that Cecil was only a few minutes away, he felt the absence more than he ever had before. 

He pressed his forehead against the tile, and called as best as he could over the water, “Cecil?” 

He waited. Nothing happened, and he forced himself to straighten up. “Cecil!”

A few moments later, the door opened, and then Cecil pushed back the curtain enough to peer into the shower again. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when their eyes met. Carlos’ skin had a painful glow to it, and the water had plastered his hair down. But in the scientist’s eyes, dark and hollow, Cecil saw desires that Carlos had lost - no, been robbed of the words for. 

The radio host reached through the water, pressed a hand to Carlos’ face, and said, “I’ll join you. Would you like that?”

Carlos closed his eyes on contact, and decided without letting himself think about it that, yes, more contact would be a good idea. He nodded silently. Cecil dropped the curtain, and undressed quickly. Then, he stepped in, flinching as the water rushed over him. 

Carlos turned toward him. He sucked in his cheek, and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know - I just…” 

“Hey. Do you want me to help you wash your back?” Cecil offered. 

“Oh. Oh, yes. That… if you don’t mind, that would help,” Carlos shook his head, then changed the direction of the gesture to an abrupt nod. He hadn’t been able to reach there very well, anyway.

Cecil reached for a wash cloth, and found that the one hanging inside the shower was heavily stained. He stared at it, and then noticed Carlos staring, too. Carlos was staring and smiling, and the expression looked like it could break into tears at any moment. His jaw tight, Cecil took the cloth and dropped it on the floor outside. The linen closet, thankfully, was positioned in such a way that he was able to grab a clean one just by leaning out. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, just, there was… a lot… a lot of…” Carlos clasped his hands against his stomach. 

“Shh… it’s gone. It’s gone now. That’s okay. Here. Turn around for me?” 

Carlos did, and Cecil wet the wash cloth, and applied a more-than-necessary lather of soap to it. He placed a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, and started the cloth underneath, although the small circular pattern he moved in might not have been the best for cleaning. Still, even through fabric, Carlos’ body was tight. He seemed to have heat just underneath his skin that had nothing to do with the water, like a fever, but sharper. 

Occasionally, the scientist shuffled forward, or hissed, or gasped so faintly Cecil almost doubted he’d heard anything. The radio host started to hum, matching the rhythm of his voice to the motion of the cloth. He shifted his hand from Carlos’ shoulder, to part-way around his boyfriend’s waist, and held himself at an angle instead of directly behind the scientist. That way, he could be closer. 

“Mmm…” Carlos twisted, and pushed his body up against Cecil’s. He tensed, but when Cecil tried to give him space, Carlos whispered urgently, “No. Don’t do that.”

“Okay.” Cecil secured his other arm around Carlos, clasped his hands against the scientist’s stomach. 

Carlos nodded. “That. Do that. Please.” 

They stood together, separated by nothing, and it almost let them forget the impossible distance they had faced. Cecil lifted a hand and ran it through Carlos’ hair, strand by strand according to how the water divided it. Carlos only let him do this, and continued to radiate that strange, pervasive heat. Cecil could feel the other man’s lungs, swelling and deflating too fast, against his body.

“Cecil?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure.”

“About something in particular, or just sort of overall not sure?”

“More like the second one,” Carlos replied absently. He leaned his head back against Cecil’s shoulder. “A little of the first, but I don’t know what that thing is.”

Cecil pressed his face into Carlos’ hair, and kissed him. “It’s okay. Or even if it’s not, give it time. Take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Carlos nodded. “Okay. Okay, good. Right. Oh. I’ve been wanting to say something… I keep getting distracted?”

“What’s that?”

“I love you.” 

Cecil smiled, his first honest smile all day. “I love you, too.” 

Carlos stepped away, and turned the shower off. Without the water to mask it, his breathing was loud, too. Cecil climbed out of the tub and presented his boyfriend with a towel. “Here… I’ll go get some clothes ready, okay?” 

Carlos agreed in a hurried murmur, and Cecil squeezed his hand.

“I’ll be right outside when you’re done,” he said. 

When he was alone, Carlos dried himself quickly - in part because he’d scrubbed hard enough to make the towel sting on contact - and then wrapped it around his waist before leaving the bathroom. 

As promised, Cecil was waiting outside. He hadn’t bothered with anything more than a pair of boxers for himself, but he was ready with a set of clean, soft pyjamas. Carlos took this in and felt, very deliberately, every muscle in his body liquefying. This was too much. It just was. 

Scientifically speaking, he didn’t feel ready - less than twenty-four hours ago, everything had been washed out, everything had been cold. Now, there were fresh pyjamas and food, and he hadn’t dosed himself with the medication that would keep him from feeling tired. He had left it behind. It would probably be destroyed.

Not that it had ever actually removed the need for sleep. Just stopped him from feeling it. Tiredness wasn’t happiness, after all. Now, there was a weight behind his eyes, and he didn’t care what kind of dreams he would have. He let Cecil lead him down the hallway, let Cecil adjust the covers. There was a buzzing in Carlos’ brain, like the crackle of an alarm radio just before the program burst on. 

Maybe he’d wake up in a second, maybe he’d have to go back to work. But no. No, they wouldn’t make him, they couldn’t this time,  _ this time _ would be different. But then the thought of waking up from this almost made him sick on its own. He gripped Cecil’s arm suddenly, and immediately there was a hand over his own, stroking, and a voice he knew, speaking. 

The words were indistinct, and Carlos did not have the energy to pick them apart, but he didn’t really need to. He climbed into bed and stretched out, with Cecil hovering beside him the whole way. The sheets around him were unbelievable. He immediately buried his face in the pillow, and breathed in. The faint smell of laundry detergent was not a sensation he would take for granted ever again. Around the lump in his throat, he murmured, “Oh… I’m tired.”

He reached out a hand to Cecil, who took it, and squeezed. The radio host said, “Then you can sleep. Do you want anything first, dear?”

Carlos didn’t think before he spoke. “You?”

“Oh, Carlos! Oh, honey...” Cecil exclaimed, only to fade into a whisper. “That can be arranged. But first, let me get you something to drink, okay? Will you be alright for a few minutes?”

“Oh… I think. Sure. But you don’t have to… bother, I just…” Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure how he’d been hydrating. He must have, or he wouldn’t be alive at all. All he knew was that, with attention called to this fact, it became as inescapable as the slight burn of his upper arm and the sheer comfort of everything else. He finished weakly. “...I just wondered, do we have any juice?”

“Yes. I’ll bring you some. Just a minute.”

Cecil headed into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, pulled out the apple juice, and placed it on the counter. Then, he braced his hands on the countertop and took a deep breath. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do about this. He knew exactly what to do. 

If Carlos finished his juice and wanted more at three in the morning, Cecil would get it for him. If Carlos needed to shower for almost two full hours again, Cecil would keep helping him, if he wanted. If Carlos wanted him to do backflips while singing praise to the moon, Cecil would do it. If it would just make his boyfriend feel a little better, that was fine. Anything that would bring him a step closer to  _ well _ again, no matter how long it took.

But he was settling in with the knowledge that Carlos would probably never be well, exactly. He would get used to seeing the tremor in his smile, and it had been hard enough working together before, reminding each other not to skip meals. It wasn’t, again, that he minded the effort. He just despised the thought of Carlos’ feeling that way. The people responsible deserved worse than what they’d been able to do.

When he was fairly sure he could do it without spilling anything, he poured the juice and returned to the bedroom, so he could see about fulfilling the other request.

“Carlos?” Cecil stood in the doorway for a moment. The lamp on Carlos’ side was off now, and the scientist was curled up tightly under the covers. Cecil approached quietly, and set the juice down on the night stand. He gently brushed a strand of damp hair out of Carlos’ face, unsure if he was sleeping or not.

His eyes were closed, and he didn’t stir. Cecil crossed to the other side of the bed, and slipped in beside him. He switched off his lamp, too. The shadows became all there was, but he could hear Carlos breathing and feel shifts in the mattress as he twitched in his sleep. Suddenly, there was space in Cecil’s heart for elation. 

They hadn’t shared a bed in so long. They hadn’t shared anything in so long. All that time worrying, waiting, it was really over. Carlos was home. Whatever came next, they could deal with it, as long as there was a “they.” 

Cecil rolled over, and held his boyfriend as he slept, until the quiet and the warm of their shared space lulled him to sleep, too.

* * *

But dreams had always been the hard part. And it was common scientific knowledge: sometimes things got worse before they got better.

_ Red and yellow, painted over purple and black. Shadows washed out and light shining. It hurts his eyes, but he loves it, he revels in it. Cecil is there, a silhouette. Cecil is there, and he is open at the seams, and everything is spilling out. Carlos tries to stop it. He tries to step forward. But Lauren Mallard - he’d gotten to know her very well - takes his wrist, and tells him,  _ that’s how we let the Smiling God in. _ And Carlos knows, there’s no point in his trying to save Cecil, because it’s inside of  _ him _ already. _

_ All he can do is smile, and all Cecil can do is bleed. _

Carlos woke up and instinct took over. It was a new instinct, which should be scientifically impossible, but that was what the Smiling God did. It shone its light inside of you, and whatever was there before faded. You had to make something new. 

Carlos tried to roll out of a narrow cot, so that he could grab his tools and get to work. Get to work on whoever needed to be worked on, get to work on whatever enhancement someone wanted to test, to see its impact on productivity. He’d get nutrients from somewhere, it didn’t matter and he didn’t think about it, and he would do science. His job was instinctual, by now. 

But instead of hitting a cold tile floor, his feet caught in a layer of warm sheets, and he fell. He landed on soft carpet, and gasped. In front of him were: a piece of wooden furniture -  _ a nightstand, his nightstand  _ \- and more carpet. To one side: a bed, with lavender covers and cats on the sheets. He turned frantically, and to the other side: a wall, with a closet door. He listed these things off individually, and as he worked to force them into a coherent, hauntingly familiar image, there was a voice above him.

“Carlos?! Carlos, are you okay? What happened?”

Cecil’s head poked over the side of the bed, and Carlos realized that he was so dizzy in part because he hadn’t breathed since he’d fallen. He gasped again, restarting his lungs, and stood up shakily. 

“Nothing. Nothing, Cecil. I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He still stood by the side of the bed, and looked around the room. It was dark, with filtered moonlight hiding more details than what he’d observed earlier. But it was his room. Their room. 

“It’s fine. But are you sure you’re alright?” Cecil shifted over again, off of Carlos’ side, and said gently, “Come back to bed.”

Carlos stared at the space below him for a moment. He reached down, and felt the softness and the lingering warmth of his own body on the sheets. He processed this, and then said, “Okay.” 

He settled back in beside Cecil, and the other man helped him arrange the blankets again. Now, Carlos stared at his lap and the fabric over it. He ran his hand along it a few times, as if to smooth it, before turning the same look of wonder on Cecil and pressing a hand to the radio host’s cheek. Cecil closed his eyes, and folded his hand over the scientist’s.

“I missed you so much. There aren’t words for a feeling like that, for an impulse like… like your next breath just isn’t going to come, and you know it, but you have to keep breathing, anyway?” Cecil ventured, as Carlos placed his other hand on the other side of his boyfriend’s face.

He stroked Cecil’s cheek with his fingertips, as though he expected the other man’s face to give way, to reveal that he was made of tissue paper and blood, that he was part of another nightmare or a test. When nothing happened, he stretched up and kissed Cecil firmly. The radio host immediately had his arms around Carlos to hold him steady. He wasn’t about to give this up. 

When Carlos finally stopped, he was trembling again, and panting softly. He rested his head against Cecil’s chest, and spoke in a low, uneven voice, “I haven’t thought about it. But I don’t think I missed you, not for… for... I’m sorry. I couldn’t really think about missing you. I couldn’t think about... anything…” He bit his lip, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I listened sometimes. That’s all I could do.”

It took Cecil a moment to piece it together. When he did, he looked down, but all he could see was the top of Carlos’ head. Still, having seen that, he couldn’t do anything but run a hand over it, and let his fingers comb down the scientist’s hair. 

“Wait. You listened? To my show? What - Carlos, how?” Cecil murmured, faintly awed. He probably shouldn’t have pressed further yet, but he did, because… because,  _ oh, Carlos. _ “Did they know you were doing that?”

“No. Maybe. If they did, they didn’t care enough… no, I don’t think so.” Carlos shook his head. They wouldn’t have let him. They would have taken it. He’d known that - taken precautions. It had worked, somehow. He went on, as best he could, “The device. I had a device, for listening, to hear what they said, but I… I modified it. A little. And it didn’t always work, but I tried. I couldn’t understand, but I tried.”

“Oh,” Cecil whispered. 

“It made me… happy, I think. Not… happy because there was nothing else. Happiness as a presence, not as an absence.” Carlos did not raise his head. His breath came too quickly again, in small gasps. “You’re here, right? I’m… here. This is Night Vale. Oh, Sm- oh, god, Cecil…” 

Cecil kissed the top of the scientist’s head, then rested his hand there again. “Shh… Yes. You’re here. You’re in Night Vale, with me, and it’s alright now. You don’t have to work. You don’t have to think about it. Right now, just… I love you. That’s all  _ I _ can think about right now. That’s all I care about. You, and how you… Hey.” 

“What? What’s wrong?” Carlos tightened his arms around the radio host, as anxiety gripped more violently around his heart.

“Nothing is wrong. But I just remembered, you never had your juice. You  _ really _ should drink something. I can get you some water, or make you some tea, but… Something, okay?”

“Oh. Oh, no, juice is fine.” Carlos pulled back reluctantly, and glanced around to find a cup on the night stand. He picked it up. 

It shook in his hands, and Cecil started to ask, “Do you need-” but he’d already raised it to his lips. It was lukewarm, but still sweet, so sweet that it stung over the bottom of his teeth, so sweet that his eyes started to water. He tipped it back faster; he was a desperate man in a desert, after all, even if the heat wasn’t really the problem. Then it was too fast, too much to go down his throat at once, and he doubled over coughing.

“Oh! Oh, no, Carlos! Hey, hey, breathe… breathe, it’s okay…” Cecil pulled Carlos’ hunched form close, and rubbed in tight circles over the center of his back.

When he recovered his breath, Carlos asked, “Could I have some more of that? That was… I think I need some. Please?”

“Of course!” Cecil assured him. 

He left, and came back with another, bigger glass. This time, Carlos leaned against him as he gulped it down, but he measured his pace better. When he finished, Cecil took the glass away and set it down on his own nightstand. 

“There… Is that… How is that?”

“Good. Better.” 

“Alright. That’s what matters. We should also see about getting you something to eat…” But as he said this, he noticed that Carlos’ eyes were drifting shut, and the scientist did not seem able to fight this. Even if he had been, Cecil wouldn’t necessarily have encouraged it. Instead, he adjusted Carlos in his arms. When the scientist did not offer any resistance, Cecil helped him back against his pillow. 

“Mmm,” Carlos murmured.  _ No comment _ , he meant.  _ I’m not hungry _ , he meant.  _ Don’t move. Don’t go again, not yet, _ he meant.

“Alright… It can wait. You’re home, and I’m here…” Cecil stretched out alongside Carlos, and his lips hovered just beside his boyfriend’s ear. “There is nothing between us, not even the airwaves. No, between us, there is only love, and that’s not a barrier at all. That is only another point of connection. Is that scientifically accurate?”

Carlos nodded, and closed his eyes entirely. “That’s nice. A nice substance. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Cecil kissed Carlos’ cheek. “We may need to talk in the morning, but it isn’t morning yet. Rest now.”

Carlos’ lips parted, but this time, only a soft snore came out. Once again, Cecil laid a protective arm over the scientist, and did his best to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Carlos might be a little more uneasy around gore for a while. But generally speaking? Cecil will help him out.


End file.
